The luxurious cruise ship, with its pristine white hull stained by salt and the faint scorch marks of recent skirmishes, glided to a stop against the imposing stone docks of Impel Down.
The sea lapped against the prison's outer wall with a rhythmic, hopeless sound. The air here smelled of brine, rust, and something fouler underneath—despair and antiseptic.
Lakeman stood at the rail, watching the procession of guards assemble on the dock.
Warden Magellan, a massive figure in his dark warden's coat, stood front and center, his face a mask of forced cheer that couldn't hide his underlying tension.
Beside him, Shiryu leaned on his sword, his eyes flat and assessing, while the larger form of Hannibal shifted nervously.
"Gwt ready," Lakeman said, his voice carrying without effort.
Behind him, his entourage gathered. Robin stood with calm familiarity, a slight, knowing curve to her lips. Lily adjusted her maid's cuffs, her face a professional blank slate.
Shakky, Mirana, Makino, Viola, Scarlett, Stella, Koala, and many other slaves gazed up at the foreboding structure with varying degrees of awe.
"It's… immense," Viola breathed, her observation haki instinctively reaching out and recoiling from the sheer density of suffering within.
"It was built to last," Shakky said, her arms crossed. Her bronze skin looked almost warm against the prison's cold gray.
"Eight hundred years. The foundation stones were laid to outlive dynasties."
CP agents had already anchored the ship and laid a crimson-carpeted plank from the deck to the dock.
Lakeman descended first, his boots silent on the lush fabric. The wind caught his coat, billowing it out behind him.
"Saint Lakeman!" Magellan boomed, his voice too loud in the dock's acoustics.
He executed a stiff, comical bow, his large frame dipping awkwardly. "Welcome again to Impel Down. Your presence brightens even this dreary place!"
Shiryu and Hannibal mirrored the bow, lower and more controlled.
"An honor, Saint Lakeman," Shiryu said, his voice a gravelly monotone.
Lakeman's eyes swept over the welcoming party, past the rows of trembling guards, searching for two specific faces—the sharp, stern beauty of Domino, the sly curves of Sadie.
Their absence was a minor irritation; a flicker of disappointment flashed across his eyes.
'Are they not posted here yet, or still training at the academy. I will have Shakky find them later.' he thought.
His gaze settled back on Magellan.
"Magellan. Shiryu. Promoted quite quickly, I see. The last time I graced these halls, you were both apprentices under Warden Tanya, fetching his coffee and polishing his seastone cuffs."
A bead of sweat, visible even in the chill, traced a path down Magellan's temple. He misinterpreted the casual tone for condemnation.
"It—it is all thanks to your benevolence, Saint Lakeman. Your recommendation to Warden Tanya before your last departure… he took it to heart. When he retired earlier this month, he named me Warden. Shiryu as Deputy."
Lakeman's chuckle was a dry, short sound. "It seems my word still carries some weight in this old fortress."
He turned his focus to Shiryu.
The man's posture was rigid, but Lakeman could feel the coiled violence beneath, the hunger for conflict that prison walls stifled.
"And you, Shiryu. Guarding cells, breaking up inmate fights… it must chafe. A man who enjoys the feel of a sword cutting through live meat, not just disciplining chained dogs. How would you like a recommendation to Fleet Admiral Sengoku? The Marines are always hungry for strong swordsmen to throw at the growing pirate hordes."
Shiryu's eyes, shadowed by his hat, flickered. The suggestion struck a deep, hidden chord.
'How does he know? I've buried that thirst, hidden it beneath duty.'
The realization that Lakeman saw through him so easily injected a fresh, cold fear into his veins, making his earlier obedience feel like a survival instinct.
He bowed again, deeper. "I… am grateful for your consideration, Saint Lakeman. I serve where the World Government deems fit."
"Good answer." Lakeman dismissed the topic. "Has our villa been prepared?"
"Yes! Impeccably!" Magellan's relief was palpable.
"It has been maintained in pristine condition year-round, cleaned daily, in hopeful anticipation of your gracious return."
His face suddenly contorted. A deep, liquid gurgle emanated from his stomach, audible even a few feet away.
"Gurgle."
His cheeks paled. With a frantic, jerky movement, he fumbled in his coat and thrust a heavy, ornate keyring into Lakeman's hand. "The—the master key for the sixth-floor access. Forgive me—urgent—"
He spun and lumbered away at a staggering, bow-legged run, clutching his abdomen.
Lakeman looked at the key, then at Magellan's retreating back, and laughed—a genuine, full-bodied sound that echoed off the prison walls.
"Hahaha"
The tension among the guards broke into stifled snorts and coughs.
"pufft"
On his heels, Makino blinked. "Why is he running away in pain like that?"
Shakky sighed, a hand on her hip.
"The man's Devil Fruit is the Doku Doku no Mi. Let's him create and control any poison he can imagine. The trade-off is that his body produces toxins constantly. He lives in a state of perpetual, violent indigestion."
A smirk touched her lips. "Fufu. His timing remains impeccable."
"Enough." Lakeman's mirth faded as he pocketed the keys. "Let's go. The villa awaits."
He led the way through the massive, riveted doors of Impel Down.
The interior hit them like a physical wave—a cacophony of distant screams, clanging metal, and the pervasive smells of sweat, blood, and bleach. The entrance hall was cavernous, lit by flickering green flames in sconces.
Shiryu moved to follow. "Shall I escort—"
"Return to your duties," Lakeman said without looking back. "Your Warden has already made his… exit."
The group proceeded, a land of opulence and power, moving through the guts of the world's misery. Lakeman ignored the central elevator bank, heading instead for a wide, spiraling staircase that led downward.
"We're walking?" Mirana asked, her voice low.
"A tour," Lakeman replied. "For the new arrivals. So you understand the consequences of failure, and the value of my favor."
The first level, the Crimson Hell, was a blast of dry, scorching heat. Prisoners, stripped to rags, labored under a blazing artificial sun.
Whip.
Smack.
Guards with whips stood by, their cracks syncopated with cries of pain of prisoners.
"Aaahh"
Scarlett's hand went to her sword hilt instinctively. Koala looked down, her purple eyes wide.
"Burning alive while working," Robin commented, her tone academic. "A simple but effective deterrent for low-level criminals."
Down to the second level, the Wild Beast Hell.
The stench of animals and rotting meat was thick.
The corridors here were lined with iron bars, behind which monstrous, genetically altered creatures, who had failed their zoan devil fruit awakening, snarled and drooled.
The floor was stained dark. Viola's observation haki showed her flashes of prisoners being dragged away by these mindless beasts, screaming.
"This is barbaric," Makino whispered, her face pale.
"It is justice," Lily stated, her voice devoid of any sympathy. "For those who opposed the World Government. This is their designated place."
The third level, the Starvation Hell, was a vast, dark desert of stone.
Emaciated figures, little more than skeletons with skin, crawled over each other in a silent, desperate scramble for the few scraps of moldy bread guards tossed over the railings.
The silence here was worse than the screams.
Shakky watched, her former broker's mind calculating the logistics of such sustained torture. "A drain on resources, to keep them just on the edge of death."
The fourth level, the Blazing Hell, was a mirror of the first but wet—a giant, boiling blood lake.
The screams here were constant, a chorus of agony as prisoners were dunked, boiled, and hung over the steam. The heat curled the hair on their necks.
"Their suffering fuels the prison's power systems," Robin supplied, seeing the question on Stella's face.
"A brutal efficiency."
Finally, they reached the fifth level: the Frozen Hell.
The heavy door opened, and a wall of sub-zero wind howled through.
Before them stretched an endless white plain under a dark, cavernous ceiling. Snow fell in a perpetual, silent storm. In the distance, the dark shapes of prison blocks were half-buried in drifts.
Closer, frozen figures, contorted in final agonies, stood as icy statues.
The cold was absolute, the kind that seared lungs and promised a slow, numb death.
Yet, not a single woman in Lakeman's party shivered.
Their evolved bodies, tempered by constant training and Lakeman's life essence, regulated their internal temperature with ease.
Even Makino, once a simple barmaid, breathed out a plume of steam that hung crisply in the air, her rear-admiral level physique rendering the deadly chill a mere inconvenience.
Lakeman set out across the tundra, his footsteps crunching in the fresh snow.
The others fell in line, a procession of vibrant life cutting through a landscape of despair.
They passed cells where blue-lipped prisoners, wrapped in thin rags, watched them with hollow, envious eyes. Some reached weak hands through the bars, only to have them go numb.
After nearly half an hour of trekking, a shape emerged from the blizzard—a sprawling, elegant villa.
It looked absurd, a summer estate plucked from Sabaody and dropped into this frozen underworld.
Warm golden light glowed from its many windows. The snow around it was cleared, and the air near its walls shimmered with contained heat.
Maids and CP agents, who had taken a separate elevator with the luggage, were already swarming the entrance, carrying crates and trunks inside. The villa hummed to life.
Inside, it was a paradise of velvet, mahogany, and marble. Central heating banished the memory of the cold. The air smelled of polish, expensive incense, and the promise of food from the kitchens.
As the women dispersed to choose rooms and unpack, Lakeman settled in the main study. He sank into a plush chair and closed his eyes, not to rest, but to check his system's silent work.
[Binding Genius - Shiryu. Progress - 12%]
[Binding Genius - Magellan. Progress - 13.2%]
A curl of satisfaction lifted his lip.
On his last visit, binding them would have required close proximity for weeks—waiting outside Magellan's bathroom for a month held no appeal to him.
Now, with the system's upgraded range and reduced binding time, it was already in motion.
A day, perhaps two, and he'd have two new Future Admiral-level sheep in his pen, their training feeding him forever.
The feedback notifications for the prisoners already bound on the sixth floor scrolled in a steady, comforting stream in the back of his mind.
Power, accumulating drip by drip.
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